AN: Hi guys^^ Yup, here is the first chapter :D I really do hope that you'll like it <3

For a long time, darkness had been the only thing Jiyong knew. Darkness in a tiny, confined place that he didn't even know where it was. He hated it with all his might, yet he couldn't do anything to escape.

It wasn't his fault really, the door of his 'cage', that actually was a small wardrobe had been barricaded from the outside with many, many items. Of course, Jiyong didn't know what they were, he could only hear the creak whenever he tried to push the now rotting door.

How long had he been trapped there? He didn't know. Vaguely, he could remember some kids pushing him into it, when he was still alive, but barely, bleeding from many, many wounds.

He could recall their rushed movements as they pushed the items in front of the wardrobe, blocking his way. But why? He didn't now. He wasn't even sure if these memories were true, because why would someone do that to him? Had he done anything bad?

Now that, he couldn't remember. He knew that there was something about him that people disliked, which was pretty obvious since no one ever came to search for him, not even when he was still alive and breathing, but he didn't know what.

Honestly, he had no idea what had happened before he was locked in there. And it made him angry and sorrowful. At first, when he was still alive, or at least he thought so because he could still feel the searing pain in the cuts and bruises he had, he tried screaming for help. He tried to get out so badly... But he couldn't. And no one came to help.

Gradually, in a day or maybe less, he lost all of his strength. It wasn't a surprise since he was already hurt, maybe the only reason he had still been able to move was the adrenaline rushing through his veins. But it faded as soon as he realized that he was going to die there.

He had completely given up, and maybe that was why he started to notice how much they had hurt him.

The pain slowly grew in every fiber of his body, blood rushing down his neck from a wound he didn't even remember. Maybe a day hadn't even passed, just minutes. He didn't know? How could he? He couldn't see his hands, heck he couldn't see anything, though he was almost sure that his eyes hadn't been injured, yet they hurt, from the many, many tears he shed. His right leg had been twisted, or broken, he wasn't sure which, but he knew that if he had the space fall on his knees from the pain, he would have. Yet he barely had any space to reach out to pound on the door.

Time passed again, and slowly, the pain faded. His whole body became numb, feeling like he had healed. Of course, it would have been to good to be true.At that time, he didn't know it, but he had passed away just like that, standing on his powerless feet. He slowly noticed the pale glow of his hands. They had become slightly transparent, though they were still battered with bruises. "Ugly."The boy thought, a deep sigh leaving his dried lips.

Yes, his first thought being dead was that he was ugly. He barely even realized what had happened though. His brain just still couldn't process everything that had happened in the past hours or days. Or were they just minutes? He didn't know and he didn't want to know.

He could still feel a tiny ray of hope that someone would come and find him. Of course, deep down he knew that it wouldn't happen. But why? He didn't know..

The boy used to think that if he ever died, life would just simply stop. Somehow, he couldn't believe in living after his death. Yet, he was there, many, many years after his death in the small wardrobe, waiting for someone to help him.

Many times did he pound on the door, screaming for someone to help him. He wasn't sure if others could hear him since he was a ghost, or at least something like that, since he hadn't left his body, but sometimes he could hear distant laughs or even terrified screams as if they had heard him.

Funny thing is, that Jiyong seriously didn't know what he had done to deserve all of this. Of course, he did know that he must haven't been the most perfect person, he just knew that he couldn't have been like one, but still. Was he really that bad?

And now, what seemed like decades later, Jiyong was actually used to living like that. He would sleep, or something like that during what he thought to be nighttime and think up weird ideas about who he had been in daytime. It was a boring and agonizingly slow life, but he couldn't do anything against it. No matter how hard he tried to get out, he couldn't. He was locked in, for ever.

But he never cried. He didn't think that he should, because there was no use. Of course, many times he could feel tears prick at the corner of his eyes, but he would simply blink them away. He still had hoped, not of being saved, but of his life ending finally. Oh, how he wished that it would happen already.

This state, being caged into that smelly place that barely had any air was everything but a life. And Jiyong knew that it just wouldn't end like that. He became like that for a reason, one he couldn't really understand.

Maybe the ones above just hated him. Maybe he had done something terrible, maybe he had sinned. He didn't know, and sometimes he wanted to know it. Then again, chances were that he wouldn't have been able to accept the fact that he had done something like that. So, he didn't really want to know it.

Still, he wished that at least some fragments of his memories would have been back. Living without knowing who he had been, or who he still was made him empty.

He wanted to break out. He wanted to be free... Or at least he wanted this life to end. And still, he had a feeling that none of those three would ever happen.

Oh, how wrong he had been.